Resident Evil The Untold Story
by RainChild1
Summary: A friend of Barry's takes a team of S.T.A.R.S. to investigate Raccoon City. They arrive just in time for the virus outbreak. Mostly new characters; some interaction w/familiar faces. Co-written with a friend of mine. Being revised currently.
1. Prologue

Resident Evil:

The Untold Story

-- by Rain Child and Okuichan

Disclaimers:  Rain Child and Okuichan do not own Resident Evil or any other copyrighted materials mentioned within.

**Authors' Notes:**  Hey all!  Rain Child here.  I co-wrote this one with Okuichan, my best friend.  Please read and review, and feel free to flame as well—criticism is a means of improvement.

            We've decided to completely re-work this fic.  We were not happy with our original work.  (Okay, okay, so we just want a new excuse not to update often.)  For those of you who've read this before—the plot is rather similar, but the beginning seven chapters are almost completely altered, as well as the characterization, events, and dialogue, especially after chapter three or so.  You might want to re-read this story in order to avoid confusion.  The story will definitely be better this time around, anyway.

            This story is about a group of S.T.A.R.S. members, an unofficial team led by a friend of Barry Burton.  The team sets out towards Raccoon, to find Barry and uncover the truth about the Raccoon murders and Umbrella—and arrive just in time for the outbreak of the virus in Raccoon City.  Though most of the characters are originals, there will be a few run-ins with some familiar faces.

            We humbly request (and threaten violence if our request is denied) that this story not be altered, tampered with, or posted somewhere without our knowledge.  Though Resident Evil wasn't our idea, this story is entirely original.  If you want it, ask.

If you get a chance, please e-mail us in regards to this story:  
  
Léa (Rain Child):  raingoddess_47@hotmail.com  
Cara (Okuichan):  anthy-chan@wildmail.com

Prologue**__**

September 1998

            Captain Eric Anderson shifted his weight in the driver's seat of the van.  Though he was well aware this outing to Raccoon City SHOULD'T be more than an investigative venture, the familiar anticipation he felt before a combat situation was building anyway, forming a tight ball of adrenaline in the pit of his stomach.  However, after more than twenty years with the S.T.A.R.S., he'd learned to welcome the emotions felt before a potential fight, and had long since given up any notion of suppressing them.

            "Raccoon City, twelve miles," he heard Luke Santiago announce.  Sure enough, a green road sign blew past them.  Finally, they were almost there.

            Eric sighed, relieved.  He'd endured over two months of restless nights, sleeping little and eating less, since the day his old friend, Barry Burton, had called…  
  
******Flashback******

            "Zombies, Eric," Barry said.  "The walking dead, humans exposed to a virus meant to create bio-weapons.  I've seen them, buddy.  Umbrella has been building organic weapons, and managed to turn men into corpses, cannibals!"

            "That's what these cannibals killers are?  Zombies?"

            "For lack of a better term, yeah.  Decaying flesh-eaters, victims of a disease Umbrella designed and cultivated out in that mansion."

            "Barry…"  Eric sighed.  "This is a little…"

            "Listen," Barry interrupted, "I know it sounds crazy.  But I know what I'm talking about!  Umbrella is involved in bio-weapons research, and they have to be stopped.  This virus… Eric, complete cellular decay.  Think about it.  Any human exposed turns into an animated corpse in forty-eight hours."

  
******End Flashback******

            Eric swallowed, remembering the insistent, desperate tone in Barry's voice.  It had sounded so incredulous at the time:  Umbrella, Inc., one of the world's most successful pharmaceutical companies, had been engineering bioorganic creatures in Raccoon City.  They'd been using something called the "T-virus" in their research, and the air-born virus had been accidentally released.  All those people working at the hidden lab…

            Barry had been investigating the cannibal murders in Raccoon, and had lost six of the eleven members of his team during an inspection of a boarded-up mansion in the Raccoon Forest.  Barry and the others who'd survived were on thin ice as far as keeping their jobs, and any sane person would heard the explanation the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. team had to give thought the whole group of surviving S.T.A.R.S. was either incompetent or in desperate need of a trip to for the mental ward and bottles of anti-psychotics… but the murders had stopped, and no one had died or disappeared since the day the S.T.A.R.S. went into that forest.

            The story had died down since July; most of the citizens of Raccoon City simply believed the S.T.A.R.S. had lost it and went on with their lives.  Eric knew better.  Barry had lost team members before.  Once, when he and Barry had been working together, their entire unit of over twenty people had been wiped out, save Barry, one other teammate, and Eric himself… it took a lot to shake Barry Burton, and the man knew how to deal with tragedy.  Barry wasn't the type to snap and babble some freaky conspiracy theory, especially not after years of service in dangerous situations.  Nor was Barry incompetent; he was as skilled for the job as any S.T.A.R.S. captain.  No, there was something more to that story, as wild as it had seemed...  
            It had been too crazy to accept; yet Barry was a terrible liar, and why would he invent something so insane?  It didn't make sense...

            Eric frowned, remembering the events that had followed the conversation.  He'd gotten a call from a friend saying that Barry's home had been ransacked, and Barry—as well as the other four surviving Raccoon S.T.A.R.S.—had apparently disappeared.  Eric had decided to tell his superior of Barry's tale of the T-virus. The man hadn't bought it, though, so Eric had talked to a few other people in S.T.A.R.S., mostly people who had known Barry or were believed to be some of the best law enforcement officials.  No one had listened, or even shown a spark  of interest.  For some reason, Eric had become suspicious, uneasy.  If one of the S.T.A.R.S. were in trouble, the organization had always jumped up to help, especially when it could be just the thing to salvage the taint placed on the S.T.A.R.S. name.  The disaster in Raccoon was making S.T.A.R.S. teams around the country look foolish; surely, he'd thought, someone would want to put an end to the rumors and bad press, even if they weren't interested in helping fellow members or old friends.  His superior had known Barry, and yet… there had been that theory of Barry's, about Captain Wesker, who'd betrayed the Raccoon group.  Chris Redfield, Barry's close friend, had believed that there were other traitors within the S.T.A.R.S. organization, others who'd been as taken in with the money Umbrella could offer.  Barry had agreed; after all, Umbrella had close ties with the S.T.A.R.S. founders, and contributed a lot of funding…

            Eric had been ready to go insane.  The thought of traitors in the S.T.A.R.S., that Wesker's treachery wasn't an isolated incident… it was shocking, and terrifying, but—worst of all—it made sense.  The Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. members' new reputation could ruin the credibility of all branches of the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad, but when his superior and several other high-up S.T.A.R.S. officers had listened to Eric's story, had been faced with another angle, one that could shed light on the Raccoon case, not one person was even thinking of taking action—not for an old friend like Barry, or for the reputation of the entire organization...  Was it possible there WERE traitors in the S.T.A.R.S.?

            He'd eventually decided it didn't matter; he owed it to his old buddy Barry to figure things out, on his own if necessary.  That's when he'd gathered the small group of S.T.A.R.S. he was driving toward Raccoon City.  Four S.T.A.R.S. members he felt he could trust:  Marcus Richards, Callie Jensen, Luke Santiago, and Angel Monroe.

            He'd worked with Marcus Richards before on several occasions, before Marcus had been transferred out of Fairview, Oregon, where Eric's S.T.A.R.S. team was located.  Marcus, twenty-seven, was a weapons specialists with the professionalism of men twice his age.  A glance in the review mirror showed Marcus sitting in the back of the van, checking their various firearms and ammunitions with expertise shining in his midnight-blue eyes.  The expression seemed out of place on his boyish face, like a teenager trying to figure out calculus when you didn't expect him to be able to do much past tell you the plot of a cartoon.  Indeed, Marcus's sandy-blond, spiky hair and small, skull-shaped earring made him look like he was barely out of high school; he certainly didn't appear the part of a highly trained firearm expert.  Marcus had always been serious though; too serious, really.  His father had been an FBI agent, and Marcus had grown up wanting to follow in his footsteps.  He'd almost given up on law enforcement altogether, however, when his father was struck with Alzheimer's disease; making his father proud didn't work too well after awhile, once his father got so bad he couldn't recognize Marcus.  The idea of joining the FBI became upsetting rather than uplifting.  A friend, however, had persuaded Marcus to join S.T.A.R.S. instead of give up on the criminal justice field all together, and Marcus had been with the organization for nearly six years, making him the oldest and most experienced of the group, after Eric himself.

            Behind Marcus, in the farthest seat (they'd folded down the front one for extra storage space), sat the other three, who were chatting calmly.  Luke Santiago had worked with Eric also; while Eric wasn't too well acquainted with Callie and had only ever met Angel twice, Luke was quite a close friend.  Luke was twenty-four and half-Hispanic, with a deep-tan skin tone, long black hair that brushed the tops of his ears, and dark eyes.  He was the total opposite of Marcus; Eric had yet to see Luke handle any situation—including dangerous and deadly ones—without cracking a joke.  He was a damned good shot, though—hadn't missed the target since he'd first picked up a gun—and was also trained as a field medic.  Luke's parents had been murdered when he was six, and his uncle had raised him, pressuring him to be a doctor until Luke had gone to college and specialized in medicine.  He'd quit after his second year, though, wanting to dedicate himself to law enforcement… probably because his parents' death had remained unsolved, though Luke never talked much about it.  Luke had started working with the Miami police, but he got tired of the corrupted legalities and joined S.T.A.R.S.  It was Luke who'd recommended Angel.

            Angel Monroe looked the calmest of the four members of his team.  In fact, she was actually fixing her long hair into two buns on the side of her head.  Luke was teasing her, "Only a woman would fix her hair on the way to an investigation."

            "Bite me, babe," Angel said sweetly, twisting a lock of her golden tresses.  She looked across him to Callie, the least experienced of the group.  "It prevents an enemy from using your hair as a handhold," she explained.  "It's much harder to grab someone by the hair if it's closer to their head, or at least out of the way.  I wear my hair like this whenever I've got a gun within ten feet of me."

            Callie raised an eyebrow and reached into her shoulder bag, pulling out a hair clip for her own shoulder-length brown hair.  "Good idea," she commented, looking a little nervous, her large hazel eyes wide.  "But, um, what if someone were to grab your hair anyway?"

            "First of all, the target is smaller and it's going to be harder to yank me around by the head; second, these usually unravel, and that tends to catch an attacker off guard, makes them stumble or at least alerts me of the action—"

            "Ah, I doubt we'll run into anything like that, though," Luke told Callie, slinging an arm companionably around her shoulders for a moment, knowing she was more or less a rookie compared to the others.  Her eyes had been growing wider and wider at Angel's words.  "Mostly just a look around Raccoon, evidence digging, right, Eric?"

            "I hope so," Eric called back, not meaning to sound as grim as he did.

            "Angel's just paranoid," Luke went on.  His dark eyes gleamed mischievously.  "She's a certified ghetto bitch, after all."

            "Luke, don't make me shoot you," Angel replied calmly.  "Any good ghetto bitch wouldn't hesitate."

            "After a night with me, they would," he joked.  "That's why Angel hasn't shot me yet," he added in a stage whisper to Callie.

            "No, I haven't shot you because you haven't gotten me in bed."

            "Ghetto bitch…?" Callie interrupted.

            Angel laughed.  "I'm from Detroit.  World's most dangerous city, home sweet home."

            "Is it really?" Marcus asked mildly, not looking up from the shotgun he was sighting.  "I'd've thought Los Angeles."

            "Nope.  Doesn't hold a candle, according to several experts."

            Luke put his arm around Angel.  "I love a woman who can kick ass."

            She dug her fingernails into his arm until he yelped and let go.  "I can certainly kick yours."

            Luke sulked, Marcus and Callie chuckling at their antics.  Apparently, Angel and Luke had an interesting relationship.  Eric suspected the two were close friends, though, despite the theatrics.

            Angel finished with her hairstyle and stared out the window, her blue-green eyes clouding over with thought.  Enrico Marini, one of the dead S.T.A.R.S. members from Raccoon, had recruited Angel for the S.T.A.R.S.  He had been something of a father to her, so Eric had been told.  Angel was an orphan, and had grown up living by her wits in the streets of Detroit.  She was an expert with a knife—both fighting with them and throwing them—and was also skilled at the finer aspects of breaking and entering: lock picking, disarming alarms, cracking safes, and so on.  She'd been ripping off mansions in the suburbs of the city for a while, but didn't have the heart for criminal activity.  Angel had met Enrico when she'd been at a bank in Michigan and a man had entered with a gun.  Enrico's team had been brought in to do hostage negotiation when the robbery had gone sour.  Angel, then sixteen, had taken out the criminal and saved close to twenty people, and all she'd had on her was a pocket knife.  The cops had been pissed—they'd been one-upped by a girl with a three-inch knife instead of a gun and a badge—and had tried to put her in state custody when they figured out she was an under aged street kid, but Enrico had stopped them from shipping her off to a group home.  He had taken her under his wing, had seen her potential, and now, the twenty-one-year-old woman was on her way to being one of the best S.T.A.R.S. members in America.

            Callie seemed a little unnerved by her.  Anyone who looked twice at Angel could see the rough edges, and Callie had lived a bit of a pampered life, though she was starting to warm up to and befriend Angel.  Callie was a relative of Eric's brother-in-law, a rich girl from Seattle.  Her parents had encouraged her to be a musician or some such, or else to marry another white-collar.  They'd nearly disowned her when she had taken Eric's brother-in-law's advice about the S.T.A.R.S.; apparently, they were pissed she'd decided to become a "glorified cop," as they put it.  She'd been treading on thin ice since becoming a biochemical major; Mommy and Daddy didn't want her to be some career woman, and a scientist was beyond them.  Callie's parents had only just gotten used to the idea when she'd announced her plans to join the S.T.A.R.S.

            Callie's main use was her knowledge of the scientific aspects of viruses and other diseases, and she was probably going to end up pursuing forensics as a S.T.A.R.S. specialization one day.  She'd only been involved in one or two field excursions, but she already had a doctorate at age twenty-four, and was pretty capable as far as combat.

            The four younger S.T.A.R.S. members had now taken to discussing Raccoon City, and the coming tasks ahead.  While Angel had been to the city dozens of times, and Luke had been skiing in the nearby Arklay Mountains once or twice, Marcus had never been to Raccoon and Callie had never even heard of it.

            "Angel, how well do you know the city, anyway?" Marcus was saying.

            Angel shrugged, cracking the window and lighting a cigarette.  "About as well as you know how many toes you have," she said.  "I haven't been there in a while, but I can show you around better than Walt could show you Disney World.  I don't forget a place."

            "You know, you should quit smoking, Angel," Luke told her, making idle conversation.  "Decreases your ability to think clearly."

            "I know, Luke, I know," she replied.  "Decreases the flow of oxygen to the brain.  It's called addiction.  Nasty habit, but, hey, maybe if you could find a girl who smokes, like, twenty-seven packs a day, she'll have stopped thinking clearly enough for you to finally get a date."

            "Hey!"

            Eric laughed with the others.  They were a good group, Eric decided, and if Barry had been telling the truth, he'd need them.

            The Raccoon exit loomed ahead of them.  With a silent promise to Barry, Eric pulled off the highway.****


	2. Research

Disclaimers: Okui-chan and Rain Child make no claim to Resident Evil or any other copyrighted material mentioned within. Try suing someone with cash.  
Authors' Notes: Hey all! We're working hard on our fics, but Okui-chan loses the Internet tomorrow (Dec. 30, 2001) and Rain Child's comp is buh-byed for a few weeks, but we'll try to update any way we can. Be patient!  
  
  
Chapter One  
Research  
  
  
September 27, 1998  
  
Angel Monroe opened the rusty RPD gates. She'd been to the station a few times with Enrico Marini, met the police chief and the other Raccoon City S.T.A.R.S. before. She knew the station pretty well; well enough, at least, to know that certain areas of the place were off-limits. As she headed inside, she was suddenly grateful Eric had let her come alone; there were too many memories of good times in Raccoon City for her. Above all, she hated showing emotion in front of others, especially her colleagues. Like Eric, she'd lost a friend in this place. The only difference was that Enrico was definitely dead....  
She shut down the trian of thought viciously, glancing around. A few cops milled about, and the receptionist had her back to her. She slipped into the door that led towards the back stairs, not wanting to answer questions. The trick was to simply act as though she belonged, and no one would think twice as to if she was supposed to be wandering freely through the place's less public rooms.  
She'd planned to go straight to the library, but she paused in front of the door to the S.T.A.R.S. office. It was locked, and the hallway was empty. No sounds came from inside.  
Angel reached into her shoulder bag for her lockpicks. If she was right, the office was closed with no one thinking to enter. Once she was inside, she could rumage around with no one the wiser, then get out and head to the library.  
The soft click sounded as the lock opened, and she stepped through the door, grinning. A twist of the latch, and no one would be entering behind her without a key.  
She surveyed the small, windowless room quickly. The S.T.A.R.S. had doubled up on the desks, save for the captain's desk, which sat before a large tapestry with the RPD logo.  
She wandered towards it. Eric had told her that Barry insisted the captain, Albert Wesker, had betrayed them. That Wesker had shot Marini. He'd said so in private, knowing how close she had been to Enrico.  
The desk was neat and orderly, but Angel doubted anyone would notice if she messed it up. She began to yank on draws and scatter papers, looking for any evidence of the type of man Enrico's killer had been. She found two boxes of ammunition, 9 X 19 parabellum rounds, and slid them in her bag. Wesker was dead. He wouldn't be needing them.  
In the bottom drawer were files on each of the S.T.A.R.S. and their background. Chris Redfield, the marksman. Jill Valentine, daughter of a convicted felon. Brad Vickers, the pilot and hacker.  
She pocketed the files of the five survivors-- Brad, Jill, Chris, Barry, and a new recruit named Rebecca Chambers. On second thought, why not take the others? Her bag was getting full, but as long as the hand gun didn't make a bulge, it didn't matter.  
There wasn't much else of interest on the desk. A roll of film labelled "D", a stapler, paper clips, a pair of sunglasses. She stood up, not bothering to fix the mess she'd made, and went to explore the rest of the office.  
Next to the tapestry was a picture of the S.T.A.R.S. taken before Rebecca had joined, and then a trophy case displaying a few of the team's accomplishments. The most impressive was Chris's marksman championship trophy, though there were a few others.  
Barry had a pair of replica guns on his desk. He was a gun nut; not exactly trigger happy, but he collected guns the way one would collect stamps or rare coins. A cursory inspection of the desk, and she found a picture of Barry and Eric, as well as one with Barry's family. She pocketed the first one, wondering why there were so many personal items laying around....  
Ah, the desk Chris shared with Forest, of the Bravos. She spotted Forest's guitar, though the disorganization of the desk itself was definitely Chris's trademark. Jill had a picture of Chris on her desk, a set of lockpicks (Angel left them; they were a nice set, but not as nice as her own) and a few true crime novels, as well as a case file of the Raccoon murders. The case file was added to her bag, as well as a book on FBI profiling... she loved to read, and Jill obviously had had good taste.  
The rookie desk... probably Rebecca's and maybe Brad's... the self-help books were something Brad might use. He was a bit of a... well, a wimp. Angel suspected he'd only made Alphas because of his hacker skills, though there was a small certificate back on the trophy case of his accomplishments as a pilot. Joseph-- who couldn't make a serious comment if his life depended on it-- called him Chicken Heart a lot. Apparently, Brad was the one who had freaked out and flown off, stranding the others at the mansion in the woods. Rebecca, who was only eighteen, seemed more professional than Brad. Rebecca was a true-life genius; Callie would have loved to discuss bacteriology with her.  
The gunsafe. Locked, but too ancient to pose a problem; she could have picked it with a bobby pin. Grinning, she creaked open the gray doors.  
Oooh. A .357 Magnum, and a shotgun. Angel left them; she didn't want to get caught with S.T.A.R.S. issued firearms, and even if the bag could fit the Magnum, the top of the bag had no latch to close over. Anyone walking by would catch a glimpse of it. Pity; the .357 was a kick-ass gun.  
She did, however, find a few more boxes of ammo. They were hollow points, more common in police departments, and while they were good, she prefered not to use them. They were great as far as law enforcement, and inflicted maximum damage on living beings, but they flattened on impact and were useless for shooting through anything else, like a door.  
She surveyed the office, hand on the door knob. Suddenly, something caught her eye. By Jill's desk. On the floor, a purplish-blue book, pushed back into the shadows. Hidden, for one reason or another. Why?  
A diary?  
Angel dropped to her knees and pulled it to her. It was Rebecca's. She'd probably tried to hide it under her own desk, and it had been kicked under Jill's.  
A sense of dread came over her. Rebecca may have been a rookie, but the only time someone would have left a diary around was if they wanted it found. Judging by the complex lock on it, the diary had been important.  
Something wasn't right. Maybe the S.T.A.R.S. had left town. Yet, why would they leave so many personal items laying around? Was... was whatever they were up against that dangerous? Were they all dead?  
She could understand if the S.T.A.R.S. had left it in a place just hidden enough to be found; that, at least, would have left a trail to follow, a misleading trail maybe, or else a clue to a loved one of how to find them. But Rebecca wasn't stupid, and with the way the book had been hidden, they'd been in too much of a hurry to come back for a lot of important shit.  
Angel picked the lock, glad she'd learned the skill and annoyed people kept locking things at the same time. Why couldn't Rebecca have used one of those cheap locks you could open with an ink pen?  
With a sigh and a sense of foreboding, Angel pulled her knees to her chest and started to read.  
  
  
Across town, Eric Anderson was standing in front of Barry Burton's house, staring at it. He'd heard it had been ransacked. Damn, what an understatement.  
The top window had been busted out, probably by people jumping out of it. Some of the first floor windows had been riddled with bullets, an assault rifle by the looks of it. The front door had been kicked open, showing glimpses of debris inside.  
"Sad, isn't it."  
Eric whirled, catching himself before reaching reflexively for his gun. It was a teenage girl on a bicycle, overweight with long dark hair. She nodded at Barry's house. "The Burtons were really nice. I used to baby-sit for the girls sometimes."  
"Do you know what happened?" he asked softly.  
She shook her head, her hair swinging across her face. "At first, I thought Barry and his wife were getting a divorce. I was supposed to watch Moira and Polly, but when I came over, Barry told me that Kathy had taken the girls for a while. They probably wouldn't be back for sometime. It sounded freaky, because whenever the Burtons need to cancel, I know three days in advance, minimum. Barry looked like he hadn't been sleeping well, so I figured he'd gotten a separation. He and Kathy are so in love, though, you know?" Eric nodded. No couple had seemed as matched as Barry and Kathy Burton. "Well, I went over to a friends, and when I came back, there were cops everywhere. I guess it was a burglary, but Barry's not been seen since."  
Eric swallowed. If the house was a burglary, he was a purple hyena. Definitely a planned attack with fire power. "Any guesses as to where he went? Or... if he's dead?"  
She gave him a sympathetic look. "The story was in the paper, but not front page. No bodies found. They said probably an attempted robbery without realizing Barry was a cop." Her face clouded angrily. "They made Barry out to be some crazy prick who went postal on some idiot kids looking for a TV to pawn. Barry's not like that, you know? He couldn't harm a flea, much less a messed up teenager wanting cheap thrills. I'm guessing the press blew it up into something it wasn't. More than likely, Barry went to a hotel while they fix the house. Or else, he decided to work it out with Kathy."  
"Hmm."  
She turned to Eric. "Were you a friend of his?"  
He smiled at her. "I AM a friend of his. I'm sure he's okay."  
"I hope so," she said doubtfully. "I have to go."  
He nodded at her as she peddled away, not sure whether to feel better or worse. Barry wasn't in Raccoon, and the girls and Kathy were definitely safe. They hadn't found Barry dead, but they should have found somebody. One of the attackers, if nothing else.  
Barry had left town, but not because his home now needed renovating. That he'd sent his family away ahead of him probably meant he expected this. The attack was well organized. Probably someone with money.  
Umbrella... was Barry right about it all?  
"Why would anyone want to kill you, Barry?" Eric whispered. "Why?"  
The answer was simple; after all, nothing else made sense.  
Whatever he knew-- about Umbrella, about the cannibals-- Barry had known too much. 


	3. An Unexpected Encounter

Disclaimers: We don't own Resident Evil. (Although, how this is supposed to keep people from suing us, we have no idea.)  
  
Authors' Note: Okui-chan and Rain Child presently live 600 miles apart. Therefore, updating is going to be kind of difficult. We're going to try, but when you send us those wonderful reviews, comments, and flames please don't beg us to update faster. We do love all your reviews and e-mails, but don't be offended if we don't respond right away. We encourage all suggestions, good or bad, because we believe they are necessary to improve our writing. You can e-mail us at:  
  
Lea, Rain Child: raingoddess_47@hotmail.com  
Cara, Okui-chan: anthy-chan@wildmail.com  
  
Here is:  
Chapter 2  
  
Marcus sat on a stool at the Bar Jack, reviewing a stack of files he'd gotten at Raccoon City's public library. Cannibal murders had dominated the media since last May; pretty grisly stuff. He couldn't believe that people had read this stuff with their morning coffee all summer, *Maybe I should have held off on that hamburger...*  
  
The stories, though thoroughly gross, were definitely informative, and made even more interesting when he compared them with what Eric had told him and the others. Eric's tale had been downright unbelievable; however, years of working with the S.T.A.R.S. captain had taught him not to disregard anything Eric said. The papers had no other theories behind the murders, and in all actuality Eric's story was becoming more believable by the minute.  
  
Marcus sipped his espresso, remembering Eric's words:  
  
"Zombies, for lack of a better term. Decomposing, flesh falling off as they walked. Apparently, the virus they were using to create bio-weapons caused complete decay in infected humans. Barry believes these infected humans were the cannibal killers. If they didn't kill whom they set upon, the victim acquired the virus."  
  
"So, they were experimenting on mammals with this virus?" Callie had asked. "A virus that infects humans, would only affect other mammals, nothing else--"  
  
"That's the strange part," Eric interrupted. "It affects mammals, yes, but also snakes, plants, birds, insects, and Barry reported a few species he'd never seen before. Probably manufactured species."  
  
"But a virus like that would be nearly impossible to work with," Luke had protested, confused. "It's incredibly rare that a virus can affect separate animal kingdoms. Like rabies only affects mammals."  
  
"It's unreal," Callie added. "Different species maybe--but cross-genus viruses are extremely rare, and you're talking vertebrate, invertebrate, plant..."  
  
He smiled grimly, recalling the group's disbelief: Angel's skepticism, Callie's wonder, Luke's professional interest, and his own pure shock. Strange, that now it was starting to make a sort of gruesome sense....  
  
*Decaying flesh found on the victims, bite patterns made by human jaws. Wild dogs, too. Some of these people were freakin' athletes, could have easily taken on the one or two people they were attacked by, why is that?*  
  
"Hey c-can I sit here?" a man asked startling Marcus from his thoughts. He was tall, slightly muscled with reddish hair, and looked nervous, as though he thought Marcus was going to bitch-slap him for speaking. He nodded at him. The only other patron was a drunken biker and a couple making out like there was no tomorrow. The guy probably thought sitting by Marcus was going to be the best bet. "So, um, what cha reading?" the man asked.  
  
"Some of the reports on the murders last summer and the Special Tactics and Rescue Squad," Marcus replied absently. "It's funny-everyone acted like the S.T.A.R.S. were screw ups after the explosion in the woods, yet the murders stopped completely not long before they skipped town."  
  
"Heh, nice theory," the man said but muttered under his breath, "of all the people to sit next to...."  
  
Marcus looked at him out of the corner of his eye. Something was nagging at the edge of his brain; the guy looked familiar. "What did you say your name was?" Marcus said.  
  
"I'm, uh, Rick."  
  
*Yeah right, and I'm Bob.* "Marcus," he murmured shaking "Rick's" clammy hand. He looked back down at his papers...  
  
...and there it was, a picture of the Raccoon S.T.A.R.S. from last June, including Brad Vickers.  
  
"Well, looks like you're pretty famous "Rick"," Marcus said. He held up the paper with the picture on it. "Isn't this you?" he said pointing to Brad Vicker's picture.  
  
*Gotcha Vickers.* Brad paled and hissed, "What do you want?"  
  
"I wanna talk," Marcus replied, "about Umbrella."  
  
Before Marcus could blink Brad had leaped off his stool and was out the door, a look of terror in his eyes. Marcus hurried to chase after him...  
  
...and he felt a tight grip on his arm, the bartender. "Forget about your bill, buddy?" the guy asked.  
  
Marcus threw the guy a ten dollar bill and dashed out the door, grabbing his papers as he went--  
  
--and was confronted by an empty street. Brad was gone.  
  
We really hope you guys appreciate this chapter, because the two of us spent two hours trying to write this with a bad cell phone connection.  
  
Lea: ,"Marcus turned to *static static* Brad gone."  
Cara: Marcus turned into Brad gone? What the hell is Brad gone?  
Lea: No, Marcus turned to look at him and Brad is gone.  
Cara: Should this part be in quotation *static* arks?  
Lea: Cara, I told you, no quote farts.  
Cara: Lea, have you been hanging out with your brother again? *static*  
Lea: Yes, my brother is a pain in the rear end, but Cara, we have to concentrate on the story.  
Cara: Huh?  
  
Well anyway, review and e-mail, everyone! 


	4. The Umbrella Lab

Disclaimers: We, who do not own Resident Evil, hereby grovel at the feet of Capcom, and beg, "Please do not sue us, oh great ones!"  
  
Authors' Note: Please give us all e-mails, comments, and flames that you can bear to write. Sorry for the slow update times, but we explained that already dammit!  
  
Chapter 3: The Umbrella Laboratory  
  
When Luke and Callie arrived back at the hotel, only Eric had returned. He stood up, greeting them with a forced smile, "Find anything good?" he asked.  
  
"We went to the Umbrella Labs on the outskirts of town," said Callie, shutting the door to Eric's hotel room behind her and Luke. She grinned. "I snuck inside after Luke created a rather...interesting diversion."  
  
***Flashback***  
  
Luke, reeking of beer, stumbled up to the Umbrella personnel member at the front gate to the lab. "Hey man," he slurred, "whastup?"  
  
The guard stared at him, dumbfounded. "I gossa blunt," he added, "wanna go burn it with me?"  
  
The guard reached for his radio, "Security, we have a situation." Luke "drunkenly" slapped the radio out of his hand. "Hey man!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I ain't lettind your friends in on it too!" The guards behind the gate unlocked it and came forward to help. Callie slipped inside as they went to go subdue the "intoxicated idiot."  
  
***End Flashback***  
  
"Well, that's a new one," Eric said, smiling a little. "Go on..."  
  
***Flashback***  
  
Wearing a "borrowed" lab coat, Callie stood in the Umbrella storeroom, carefully working on "fixing" an equally borrowed ID. Marcus had taught her the finer points of picture ID alteration: how to paste her photo correctly over the one on the card, the inconspicuous ways of changing the letters, and how to avoid damaging any magnetic strips or numbers that would deny her access. The name of the scientist on the card was very famous in the biomedical field; Callie was hoping that one swipe of the ID in a card reader could get her into some very off-limits places, even though the name and age on the card were now changed. Satisfied with her work, she clipped the ID onto her chest pocket and stepped out into the corridor.  
  
Callie glanced down the long hallway in front of her, recalling the map Angel had sketched for her. Security, of course, was fairly heavy, and there were cameras or guards in most areas. She'd taken care to make sure that the rotating camera in this hall was facing away from her when she slipped into the storeroom. Now, she didn't bother to worry about them anymore; for all appearances, she was an Umbrella employee, and she didn't want to act conspicuous. If anyone stopped her, she'd planned a cover story; she was Ellana Smythe who had just transferred from another branch of the Umbrella Corporation. It shouldn't be too difficult to back up the story, either, considering that she had an extensive background in biology.  
  
The corridor Callie was in was a dead end with several other hallways branching off from it, and she selected the passageway on the right. If memory served, this particular corridor would lead her to where research documents were filed. A guard stood by the door at the end of the hallway. He eyed her with suspicion as she approached him.  
  
"This area is for authorized personnel only," the guard said sternly.  
  
"I have clearance for this area," Callie said as she showed him her ID.  
  
The guard examined it carefully. "Funny, I don't remember seeing you here before."   
  
"I just transferred here from HQ."  
  
"I wasn't informed about a transfer."  
  
*Man, could you be any more of a prick?* Callie thought, exasperated. "Someone probably neglected to tell you about it because it was a last minute decision. I came in to help with a project, and they need to get it done right away. So, you see, I'm kind of in a hurry..."  
  
The guard looked at her for a moment before complying. He swiped her card through the reader and gave it back to her, somewhat surprised that the ID had cleared. There was a loud click as the door unlocked.  
  
Congratulating herself on her powers of deception, Callie stepped through the access door with a smile on her face.  
  
It could have been five minutes or five hours that Callie stared in shock at the contents of the room. She expected shelves of books and papers, or rows of computer databases at least. The "research results" contained in the large chamber were far different than she could have ever expected. Large tubes, at least six feet wide, stretched to the ceiling twelve feet above her head. Within each of the ten tubes, a terrifying creature was suspended in some type of liquid. Each of them was nearly as long as the tube in which they lay dormant. Their bodies were red and muscular with strangely jointed limbs that ended in deadly looking claws. The monitors connected to the tubes displayed vital signs and listed the monsters as "human genetic alteration experiments." As sickening as the fact that these may have been altered humans was, their heads were by far the most horrible. Puffy scar tissue surrounded their eye sockets. The skin of their face was strangely formed around their skull. And worst of all, the soft gray matter of their brain dominated the top part of their heads, completely exposed.  
  
Feeling nauseous, Callie turned and left.  
  
***End Flashback***  
  
"Wow," Eric said softly.  
  
Callie nodded grimly, "My sentiments exactly. It looks like everything Barry told us was true."  
  
"More than you know," Eric agreed. He quickly filled them in on what he'd found at Barry's house. By the time he was through, both Luke and Callie looked even less happy about the situation. Unnerved, the three of them settled in to wait for Angel and Marcus.  
  
--Sorry it took so long, but we were busy with other things...  
  
Cara: Did you know the sky is blue?  
Lea: Not all the time.  
  
Lea: How come you can't whistle while sticking you tongue out?  
Cara: I don't know...  
*spitting sounds*  
  
Lea: My nose itches.  
Cara: Thank you for sharing.  
Lea: Your welcome.  
  
Cara: You ripped a pair of jeans again?  
Lea: Yeah, why do the jeans never rip in the leg or the pocket? Why they always gotta rip in the butt, man?  
  
Okay, so they weren't that important, but at the time it was a matter of life or death...really, it was! 


	5. All Hell Breaks Loose

Resident Evil-The Untold Story  
Chapter Four: All Hell Breaks Loose  
  
  
Author's Notes: Hi, peoples! Check it out-two posts in one week! (Hey, you try managing that with our cell phone connection. "Free and Clear" my ass! Sure, there's no static, but have you ever tried to write a story when every other word is bleeped out? It's like trying to catalogue a complex episode of Jerry Springer or something!) Please e-mail us or review-but don't be pissed if we don't reply immediately!  
  
Lea (Rain Child): raingoddess_47@hotmail.com  
Cara (Okuichan): anthy-chan@wildmail.com  
  
  
By the time Marcus showed up, with Angel not far behind, it was close to midnight. "Hey," Angel said, sniffing the air. "Has someone been drinking beer?"  
Callie explained their excursion to the lab as Luke shed his shirt. The others laughed a little, but it all seemed forced. Eric described Barry's home, and Marcus told them about the encounter with Brad Vickers. "So," Eric mused. "Some of the S.T.A.R.S. are hiding right here in Raccoon."  
"I wouldn't count on very many," Angel told him softly. "The S.T.A.R.S. office was covered in personal crap. Pictures, gun replicas, a guitar-Redfield had even left a few crumpled T-shirts. He was never very organized."  
"I'd really like to hear more about their personalities," Callie interrupted. "From you and Eric. Never know what might help."  
Angel nodded. "Well, none of them were exactly the type to leave coffee mugs laying around, except for maybe Redfield, and he didn't drink coffee, I don't think," she replied. "It's obvious the survivors left in a hurry. Jill even left a set of lock picks, and I think a few of the guns in their safe weren't approved for law enforcement-probably privately registered. It's possible they got clearance, but as far as I can tell, they left some incredibly valuable crap in that office." She swallowed, looking uncomfortable. "Rebecca Chambers... she left a diary."  
Luke was ready to say, "So what?" but he'd known Angel long enough to realize there was something bothering her. "I'm guessing it held a little more than who she had a crush on?" he joked.  
Angel laughed. "Actually, that was in there," she said. "It was Redfield." Her faced darkened. "But that's not the good part, exactly." She yawned suddenly. "But, can we save that for the morning?"  
Eric nodded. "Good idea. We need some sleep, and then we need to get the hell out of this city."  
"What? Why?" Marcus wanted to know, surprised. "I mean, we're just getting started--"  
"I'm pretty sure that whoever tore up Barry's home is ready to kill anyone who knows about what happened in those woods," Eric interrupted. "If anyone around town has recognized any of us as members of the S.T.A.R.S., we could be targeted. Especially if anyone remembers me as an old friend of Barry's."  
Subdued, his team nodded, and Callie and Angel turned towards the door connecting their hotel rooms. "Oh, I almost forgot," Angel said suddenly. "Rebecca wrote down what happened at Barry's. They're all fine, Barry, everyone."  
Eric smiled, relieved. "Good," he said. "That's a load off, Angel."  
She nodded and left.  
  
They all slept rather late the next morning. No one spoke much when they went out for lunch. They poured over the files Angel and Marcus had collected, looking for anything important. Around five o'clock that evening, they returned to the hotel to discuss Rebecca's diary.  
"She'd written about what went on in the Umbrella mansion," Angel reported. "It was pretty much consistent with what Barry reported. Zombies, plants, snakes, dogs, freaky-ass monsters."  
"Anything like what was in the lab?" Callie asked, but Angel shook her head. "Oh, my God," Callie breathed. "After this... spill in the woods, they're still experimenting?!"  
"Probably," Angel replied, and continued. "She was there the day Barry's house was attacked, Eric. I guess that's when they went back to clear out the office, because the entries stopped not long after that. They're all alive... but they're pretty sure that Umbrella soldiers were the ones who led the offensive. And she's very clear on the fact that Wesker betrayed them. That the way he said it could mean there's others within the S.T.A.R.S. on Umbrella's payroll."  
"Is she sure?" Marcus wanted to know. The others looked sick at the fact that the S.T.A.R.S. could be working with Umbrella. Only Eric didn't seem surprised.  
"That Wesker betrayed her? That he was telling the truth? I think so, Marcus. He shot her in the stomach. She crumpled to the ground--and listened to every word. Bullet-proof vest. The others on the helicopter that night in the mansion had said she probably wouldn't need it, but she took it anyway."  
None of them looked happy at that. Luke was the first to break the silence. "Well, now what?" he wanted to know. "Who do we go to? Not to the S.T.A.R.S., or to the Raccoon people--they've ignored this from the beginning."  
"I don't know," Eric replied. "I think we've got enough evidence by now, though, to go outside Raccoon. We should get ready to leave. Maybe-"  
A knock sounded on their door. All five of them tensed as Marcus opened it.  
  
Jenny Moreau had been ready to give up for the night. The last three doors she'd knocked on hadn't answered, and the two before that had been slammed in her face. Finally, the sixth door opened. "Good evening," she told the tall, muscular blond man in the doorway. "Have you given any thought to the Kingdom of God?"  
He stared at her, dumbfounded, and she was able to see past him. Two men and two women were in the single room. One male had his shirt off, and the girl perched on a cot in a low-cut tank top sat with her legs wide open. These people definitely needed the Lord. "I'm with the Jehovah's Witnesses," she explained. The blond girl on the cot actually snorted. Jenny ignored it and handed the man in the doorway a copy of their churches preferred Bible: The New World Translations of the Holy Scriptures. "We'd like very much for you to consider your path of worship in our Father's service."  
The guy in the doorway shot a look at one of the two men inside. The one without his shirt off stepped forward with an air of authority. "Ma'am, I don't believe the hotel allows solicitation."  
"This is hardly solicitation," she argued. "This is the matter of our Holy Father."  
The one in the doorway found his voice. "Thank you for the Bible, Ma'am," he said, "but we're awfully tired. Big day tomorrow."  
Her face fell. "Okay. Thank you for listening."  
With a smile, he gently closed the door.  
  
It took about two seconds for Angel to burst into laughter. The others chuckled, but Eric remained quiet. Marcus tossed the Bible onto a coffee table.  
Once the team had stopped giggling, Eric was all business. "Let's go ahead and check out," he said. "Pack up, okay?"  
Callie and Angel nodded and headed into the room adjoining the guys'. For females, they returned surprisingly fast. Callie had put her hair in its clip, and Angel's was up in two ponytails again. Angel was wearing the same dark-green tank-top with black combat boots and cargo jeans; the bulges in the side pockets were most likely clips for her handgun. She tucked the nine-millimeter into the waist of her jeans, tying a black sweater around her hips to keep it out of sight. Callie was dressed in a black shirt with three-quarter length sleeves and loose, pale blue jeans, her gun already hidden. The two of them reminded him of members of the Charlie's Angels-tough and beautiful, ready for anything, be it shopping mall or combat situation.  
Marcus shoved their weapons supply in an inconspicuous duffel bag, his mouth set in a grim line as Luke whistled at the girls. The two guys were total opposites, Luke with his humor and cartoon-  
character T-shirt, and Marcus with his serious demeanor and no-nonsense khakis and white sweater. They, too, had dressed combat-ready, in loose clothing for freedom of movement with extra pockets to carry what they needed. They couldn't very well wander around in their vests, for fear of arousing suspicion-they were S.T.A.R.S. after all, and there was no telling what was going on around here. Eric had heard such things about the S.T.A.R.S. being involved with Umbrella, had hoped the rumors that the S.T.A.R.S. had been infiltrated by traitors were false. Now wasn't the time to take any chances.  
Suddenly, someone started screaming. The four of his group pulled their pieces, but Eric waved them to put them down. It could be a purse snatching or even idiot teenagers coming back from the indoor swimming pool; and if it was someone who wanted to start trouble with the five of them for snooping around Umbrella's work in Raccoon, they would run, not fight-  
Eric flung open the door. It was the young woman, the Jehovah's Witness, at the end of the hall, screaming in terror...  
... at a zombie approaching.  
Eric blinked in shock, not sure he was awake, was really seeing the creature Barry had perfectly described. Its flesh was rotted, chunks hanging loosely and ready to fall off. The eyes were sightless and glassy; blood dripped from its chin as its decaying fingers reached for the woman.  
She'd backed into a corner, and as he watched, mortified, the zombie opened its jaw and tore into her throat. Blood gurgled from her mouth, and the screaming stopped as the creature began to chew her flesh.  
Then the zombie turned in his direction.  
Eric ran forward, pulling his gun as he did so, raising it to shoot-  
The zombie was on him, ripping a jagged hole in his stomach. Eric screamed, trying to shove the thing away as he fell to the carpet. His last word was to his team, standing dumbfounded in the corridor behind him.  
"RUN!"  
  
  
End of Story Weirdness-  
Ooh, freaky. Didn't expect him to get eaten, did ya? Muah hah hah! 


	6. Oh Shit

Resident Evil-The Untold Story  
Chapter Five: "Oh, shit."  
  
  
Author's Notes: Whoo-hoo! We on a roll! We on a roll! Here's chapter five!  
  
Lea (Rain Child): raingoddess_47@hotmail.com  
Cara (Okuichan): anthy-chan@wildmail.com  
  
  
BAM! BAM!BAM!BAM!  
Four gunshots sounded, each of them piercing the zombie's skull. Shocked, the four remaining members of the unofficial team turned to face the shooter even as the creature collapsed.  
A beautiful Asian-American woman still held her gun in a two-handed combat grip. It was a strange sight--a woman in a red cocktail dress, wearing black tights and black dress shoes, glaring at her target like a CIA agent, death in her eyes. Angel, Marcus, Luke and Callie simply stared at her for a second, and then she lowered her piece and faced them. Her voice was low and calm. "Head for the police station," she told them. "Where there's one of those things, there's another."  
She turned, and was gone, leaving the four of them dumbfounded. It was Marcus who broke the silence, simply saying, "Oh, shit."  
They ran for the stairs, hurtling quickly down them to the lobby on the floor below. When they saw the hotel lobby, they stopped in their tracks.  
At least a dozen of the zombie-like monsters were tearing the flesh from hotel workers and clients, chomping down obliviously as their victims screamed. As the four of them stared, one of the zombies turned its sightless eyes on the group, and then a second took notice as well.  
"Oh, shit," Marcus repeated.  
"Back upstairs!" Luke shouted, and once more they were running, Luke securing the door before following. Moan  
s of the damned accompanied loud thumps as the things tried to break through the door.  
Back in their own hallway, they paused, breathing heavy but alert. Marcus glanced at the end of the hall. "Oh, shit."  
The others followed his gaze to the Jehovah's Witness past the dead zombie draped across Eric's corpse. As they watched, the woman moaned, and the thing that had only a minute before been a dead body stood, stretching her arms out towards them.  
Not bothering with the hotel room's card key, Angel delivered two solid kicks to the locked door of the room Eric, Luke and Marcus had shared. It crashed inward with the zombie only ten feet away, and they barreled inside. Marcus grabbed the forgotten duffle bag, throwing the short straps over his shoulder.  
"Not good," Callie said, helping Luke shove the coffee table in front of the door. "What now?"  
After a moment of indecision, Angel shrugged, grabbed a chair, and tossed it through the window. The glass shattered, and Luke knocked away the wooden frame, letting the broken sticks fall to the green metal of the fire escape. The hotel hadn't used the outdoor escapes in years-the indoor stairs served as their main evacuation route now-but the thing still held firm beneath their weight. A large crate had been pushed against the bottom, creating easy access. Even though the windows weren't able to open without being broken, talk about stupidity.  
They were only halfway down when they began to realize zombies were all over the streets. One of them had probably been shot, and judging by the way the puddle of blood and gore was still spreading out beneath it, very recently.  
"Oh, shit," Marcus said again.  
"Would you stop that?" Luke said, exasperated.  
At that moment, another zombie stumbled over to the dead one. Even as they watched, the decaying creature dropped to its knees and bit into the rotted mess that was the head of its fallen brethren.  
"Oh, shit," Luke wailed, sickened.  
"Where's the station?" Callie asked, looking fairly nauseous.  
"Left," Angel replied. "Past the Umbrella Sales Office."  
Luke stared reluctantly at the street. "Everyone loaded?"  
They nodded. "Remember, head shots," Callie reminded them. "Eric said-"  
She trailed off at the memory of Eric. "Let's go."  
  
They took off down the street, then turned into an alley, Angel in the lead. Soon, they passed a small set of stairs that led down to the loading area for the Bar Jack, where the small bar received shipments and put their trash. "Look," Callie said.  
Three zombies lay in the courtyard below, unmistakably shot to death. A door could be heard shutting around the corner. "Should we check it out?" Angel asked.  
Luke shook his head, having assumed leadership for the moment. "No. Whoever it is, they can take care of themselves, and the police could probably use our help right now... or give some of their own. I'm guessing these things are everywhere by now. The lobby, the streets, the basketball court behind the hotel..."  
"Oh, man," Angel said. They listened carefully for more shots from whoever had just entered the Bar Jack, but a larger noise interrupted: a full-out assault from the sound of it, at least a few machine guns firing at something. Somehow, the zombies had overrun the city.  
  
The next area presented them with a huge crashing sound, like rioters trying to break down a metal door. Not far off, a group of zombies stood behind a large blue steel barrier. "Oh, my God," Callie breathed. "Those are cops. They're goddamn cops!"  
"Still want to go to the police station?" Angel wanted to know, looking doubtful.  
Luke nodded. "If we head there, there might be people who could help, not to mention weapons. That woman from the hotel--I'll bet she knows something about what's going on."  
Marcus picked up a large coil of rope from the ground. "That thing doesn't look too stable," he said, nodding at the zombies. "Better barricade the door."  
As soon as they'd past through the steel door to the next alley, Marcus bound the rope tight around it, then wiped his hands on his shirt. "I think the damned thing had been sitting in gasoline or something," he explained. "I... Oh, shit."  
A large pile of refuse was on fire, burning merrily. "Tell me we don't have to go that way," Callie said to Angel.  
"We don't. That leads towards the Umbrella office I mentioned, and not much else. Wait-you guys hear that?"  
Heavy panting, like a dying animal in the desert. "Oh, no," Marcus whispered. "That doesn't sound good."  
The four of them raced around the corner, and stopped dead. On the ground lay a... dog, for lack of a better term, apparently asleep. It had been skinned, red muscled more dominate than the patches of black fur. Its chest heaved with its breath, but it wasn't the sound they heard. "Gotta be more of them," Angel hissed. "The door, at the end of the alley. Then go left, past the bookstore."  
They bolted, running like hell for the exit, and then they were suddenly in the street in front of the police station. Still running, they barreled past a broken fire hydrant and a crashed automobile, racing for the gates to the police station. 


	7. Trapped

Resident Evil: The Untold Story  
  
Author's Notes: Chapter Six, at last. Review, people, okay? Or e-mail us. We're not going to post our e-mail addresses in each chapter any more; they're in the other five chapters and the prologue, look there, okay? Please tell us if we suck or if we rule or if we have something in our noses. (Well, you get the point, hopefully.  
-- Okuichan and Rain Child  
  
Chapter Six: Trapped  
  
The large, open chamber of the Raccoon Police Department's front hall was completely empty of life. No cops milling about; no secretary at the reception desk. The four sets of footsteps echoed on the marble floor as Angel, Luke, Callie, and Marcus entered the police station. "At least it's quiet," Callie muttered.  
"Where is everybody?" Marcus whispered.  
"At the donut shop," Luke joked. The others glared at him. He sighed, and said, "Let's look for a phone or something. Figure out why no one's here."  
"I'm sure there's someone around," Angel said, sounding uncertain. "There's got to be at least a few night-shifts around." Under her breath, she added, "Unless they're all dead."  
Then her eyes narrowed. "Hey, guys? That wasn't there yesterday."  
Luke followed her gaze. "The three potted plants?"  
Angel glared at him. "No, moron, the door."  
"The door wasn't there yesterday?" Luke said, trying to keep his face straight. The door over to the right of the main entrance was pretty average, save several large wooden planks nailed hastily across it.   
She exhaled sharply. "The boards, you idiot! Why the hell is it boarded up?"  
The smirk on Luke's face disappeared instantly. "Good question."  
Marcus headed over to it. "Where's it lead, Angel?"  
She tried to think. "Um, to the interrogation room, and a few offices. Also, the hallway to the basement stairs."  
"What about this one?" Callie called.  
Angel turned, eyes widening. "That's the way I went yesterday. A waiting room, and then the room where they keep the case files and reports, then the debriefing room and the dark room. Okay, I'm officially freaked out."  
Marcus gave one of the boards on the first door an experimental tug. "Not too stable," he mused. "Should we yank them off?"  
Luke shook his head, vaguely wondering why everyone was asking him what to do. "If the RPD wants them taken down, let them mess with it. Let's search the rest of the area."  
Marcus shrugged and nodded, moving off into the hall. Luke noticed that Angel had drawn her gun, looking tensed, as though anticipating an attack. Luke swallowed, following Marcus to the only door that wasn't barricaded.  
Callie circled around to the reception desk, picking up the phone. "Weird," she murmured. "It's dead."  
"Peachy," Angel said with a sigh.  
"Why would the police station's phone lines be out?" Luke mused aloud. "Wouldn't the whole city have to be out for that to happen?"  
"At least, yeah," Angel replied. "I thought they had some kind of back-up, though. Maybe I was wrong."  
"Maybe," Luke repeated. He was beginning to doubt it.  
"Oh, shit," Callie said suddenly.  
"If I hear that one more time..." Luke said.  
"Oh, big crap then!" Callie yelled at him. Luke took a step back, surprised. Callie was the shy, quiet type; he couldn't remember hearing her yell at someone.  
"What is it, Callie?" Angel said, glaring at Luke. Since Callie had arrived to join their little team, Angel had been sticking up for her... or else Angel just wanted an excuse to growl at him.  
Marcus went to stand behind Callie. Wordlessly, she handed him a bunch of papers she'd pulled from a desk drawer. "To William Birken," Marcus read aloud.  
"He's a scientist," Callie interrupted softly. "One of the best. Works for Umbrella."  
Luke nodded; he'd heard of Birken, too. Marcus continued to read.  
  
"I've followed Umbrella's orders. The city is completely cut off. Anyone trying to use a phone will discover the lines have been rendered useless. The last barricade will be at the main highway; should be finished in a few hours. The press hasn't gotten the virus-carriers publicized outside of Raccoon. Raccoon City is under marshal law... to the best of anyone's knowledge. No one will be getting in or out.  
-- Brian Irons, Chief of Police"  
  
"Oh, sh... really big crap," Marcus muttered, putting down the letter. "We're trapped. Completely. There's no way out of Raccoon." 


End file.
